


Deflection

by FlashySyren



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Blood and Background Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashySyren/pseuds/FlashySyren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war with Malekith has concluded and all seems well as everyone settles back into their lives, but for one warrior, nothing is as it should be, and she thinks that it's very likely her fault that it is not. Figuring out how to find her footing in a place where everything has changed, and where happiness is much harder to find, may very well push her into a decision that will permanently take her away from those she loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Loki/Sif Big Bang http://tenthousandwordsoflokisif.tumblr.com/
> 
> And the wonderful art for this work, by coffeesuperhero, can be found here: http://i633.photobucket.com/albums/uu51/coffeesuperhero/lsbb/deflection_zpseca6cd82.png
> 
> I kind of ran out of time at the end and struggled with figuring out how to end this. I don't like the ending, I don't think it fits the story or the characters. Perhaps someday I'll remedy that.

Morning had passed into early afternoon, the warm sun raising to a point high in the sky, and spilling its rays over Asgard to create a golden glow as it reflected off of every gilded surface, so brilliant as to be nearly painful to look upon. It was this view that Thor noted as he strode to the balcony railing, looking over the garden, artistic in its layout, and stables, built in the same architecture as the rest of the shining city below to see the training field just beyond where a handful of warriors beat at each other with weapons and fists, but none of them was she who he sought. By all accounts Sif should have been on the field, it seemed that she had thrown herself even more intensely into her training than she had before, which was hard to imagine, though easy to believe. The warrior goddess had always been devoted to honing her skills to a razor’s edge, and if the war with Malekith had taught them anything, it was that they had not been as prepared to battle so dangerous an opponent as they had hoped. Sif would not have taken that well, and would undoubtedly be trying to ensure that it never happened again. Granted, he had not known this for himself, but had heard secondhand as he had searched for her. Nearly everyone he had spoken to knew of her increased devotion to the grassy training field, and yet he had not, that truth raked a sense of guilt to life.

He had a valid excuse, Jane would be faced with several challenges before being allowed to remain in Asgard, and he had been working hard to help her prepare. It was a big job that had left him preoccupied, and was also the reason that he was seeking Sif today. Who better to teach Jane her weapons basics? He was finding himself to be a poor teacher and not particularly good at grasping the challenges a woman had with learning to compensate for a lack in physical strength. Unfortunately she had been nowhere to be found, not in her rooms, the great hall, the kitchens; everyone had recommended that he look on the field despite it being late enough in the day that the majority of the warriors would have dispersed, the field in use for only those who wished to battle out a grudge. She was in none of those places, nor was she in the barn; both of her horses were still stalled and munching on hay. It was possible that she went off on foot, but was unlikely, when Sif headed off away from the palace, it was usually to one of her favorite places that were reached much more easily on horseback.

With a sigh, bordering on irritation, but only because of the tendril of concern that was twisting itself around the guilt that had already asserted itself, Thor pushed himself away from the balcony and headed back inside. There was one place that he had not searched for her, but the likelihood that she would be there was slim to none. Moving through the wide corridors of the palace, Thor nodded a greeting to the few people he encountered, then paused before the library entryway. Sif hated the library, but she had occasionally ventured inside in search of validation for specific battle tactics, and he had run out of ideas as to where she could have gone. He searched the stacks, starting at the far end and working his way back to the entryway, which was no small job, Asgard boasted an impressive library indeed. The raven haired warrior was nowhere to be seen, and Thor moved to the archives, what little hope he’d had in finding his friend dwindling to nothing as he did.

The archives were empty save one, and Thor approached him warily, their relationship still battered into something barely recognizable, and possibly beyond mend. Loki did not set down the huge, leather bound tome that he read from, did not really even look up from it save a flickering of emerald spark seen for no more than a fraction of a moment before his attention turned back to the words upon the mouldering pages of the ancient book. 

Thor let out a slow breath before clearing his throat. “I am looking for Lady Sif, perchance have you seen her down here?” The question came out far more awkwardly than the thunderer had hoped for, and his brows drew together into a scowl to counter Loki’s expression of amusement.

“You seek the Lady Sif in the library?” Loki’s chuckle was low, dark. “You would be far better off looking on the training field, rumor has it that she has wed her glaive, and dances with it the majority of her days.” His smile was all teeth, a viper’s expression as it prepared to strike.

It was words nearly identical to those, spoken to the warrior goddess herself, which had once earned Loki a broken nose and a sword at his throat, and it was that memory that sprung to Thor’s mind at the hearing of them. “Should you wish to keep your head, I would advise you to keep such ridiculousness to yourself.” He rubbed a large, calloused hand over his face. “I have already looked there, I have looked everywhere.”

Something flashed in Loki’s eyes then, and he returned his attention to the book in his hands, responding almost as an afterthought, bored. “Then perhaps she has found herself a flesh and blood lover to while her time away with.”

“…Perhaps you are right.” Thor answered after a fashion. It was a reasonable explanation, but did not sound like Sif, in all the centuries he had known her, he had not once known of her to have want of a relationship. She avoided all talk of such things, and met advances with ice and steel. Still, he had never imagined that he would make a mortal his wife; if he could do something so out of character, why couldn’t Sif?

~

After Thor had left, Loki had been unable to continue reading, his own words coming back to haunt him. It was unlikely for it to have been true, Sif was nothing if not particular in her tastes, and he could not imagine that she would warm the bed of any of the fools that tread Asgard’s halls. Perhaps, he thought, that was his own vanity talking. Regardless, it was concerning to him that she had simply gone missing, and he had spent the rest of the afternoon looking into it himself, finding Thor’s words to be true, she was not to be found.

He awoke early the next morning, his dreams as troubled as ever, but it was not visions of the Other, or Thanos that threatened peaceful sleep. Some memories are strength, they remind you of who you are, give you something to brace against when you feel lost, and others make you weak, bringing attention to your failures and the uselessness of wondering what might have happened if things had been done differently. The memories that invaded his sleep were most definitely of the latter.

He took his time getting ready, there was no chance that he would miss her should she be on the training field. Sif had always spent many hours a day on her skills, even before her newfound obsession with pushing herself to exhaustion, and made his way out of the palace. No one acknowledged him, none of that was a surprise, he was the fallen prince, allowed free of his cage only because he’d managed to make use of himself in defense of the realm; however he was far from free, his magic was bound, trapped just beyond his reach by a silver collar, decidedly at odds with the gold he usually wore. Dwarf-forged, and engraved with the complicated runes of ancient magic, and Loki wondered where Odin had come to find such a powerful tool.

Little time was needed to find that Sif was not among the warriors on the field, and his jaw clenched at finding her to be neglecting her own habits. Surely his irritation had nothing to do with concern, and even less to do with jealousy at the thought that she might have found a way to move on without him. Though, damn the Norns, it would be almost fitting were that true, he had found a great deal of satisfaction in the outcome of the war against Malekith. Sif had gotten what she deserved. His raven warrior had chosen Thor over him, turned her back on him, and disobeyed his royal command, and in repayment, Thor had chosen Jane over her, been willing to sacrifice the life of his most loyal friend to save his mortal love. It was all almost poetic until now.

Much as Thor had done the day before, Loki searched all of Sif’s regular haunts, and came up just as empty as the thunderer had. Still the thought of Sif in another’s arms made his skin itch beneath his clothes, an irritating prickle that refused to let him be, and he went a step farther than Thor had done. This time of day the warrior wing of the palace was conveniently empty as most of them were training together, the abandoned hallway perfect for giving Loki a chance to break into her room without an audience.  
Once, long ago, he had placed wards on Sif’s chambers, and even now he could feel the remaining magic, washing over him, testing the intruder, but it was he who had put them there, and they would not deny him entry now. He glanced over at the heavily paneled sitting room, the far wall as riddled with slash marks as ever, but where Sif was usually obsessive about caring for her blades immediately after abusing them, usually by burying them hilt deep in the thick wood, two of them still remained, sticking out of the walls and forgotten.

Loki frowned, moving across the room toward them, fingering the handles before chastising himself for caring. She had made it perfectly clear that whatever might have been between them was long forgotten, and he was a fool for expecting anything else. He moved through her rooms, making note of what was there, and what was noticeably missing, and was able to conclude with a great deal of certainty that Sif was not on Asgard, but had gone off questing. This knowledge did nothing to ease the knot of concern that had disobediently wound itself around his ribs and found purchase near his heart, but instead, strengthened it. Thor was with his mortal, and he had only just seen the Warriors Three on the field, so she was alone. Sif hated to be alone.

He stalked back through the palace, servants and members of the court alike scurrying out of his way, as he made his way to the royal wing where Thor was undoubtedly holed up with Jane, trying to teach her about Asgard’s customs and history so that she might hope to be accepted by Odin and his council. His fist came up to rap sharply on the heavy door, and a long moment later it was opened by Jane herself, her eyes widening in surprise and alarm to see Loki standing before her.  
“Uh, Thor?” She called over her shoulder, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of letting the trickster in. In response, Loki bared his teeth at her in a predatory grin and pushed past the tiny mortal into the room. “Hey!” she cried, just as Thor appeared.

“Loki!” He said surprised before his expression darkened. “What are you doing here?” The unspoken part of the question being that he was not welcome.

The trickster gave the thunderer a long suffering look. “It was you, was it not, who asked me about the shield-maiden’s whereabouts, and it is I who has learned that she is no longer on Asgard.”

Jane looked between them, the steel that edged Loki’s voice was hard not to notice, and she felt as if she had missed something important. “I thought you guys left Asgard pretty often to, you know, hunt and pick fights with monsters or something.”

Both of Asgard’s princes looked at her then, and if looks could kill, Loki would have rendered her lifeless.

Her hands rose in as a gesture of surrender, but the look she shot Thor was anything but resigned. “Forget I said anything.”

Thor sighed, his expression turning apologetic in response to her anger, but he soon shifted his gaze back to Loki. “Where did she go? The Warrior’s Three are here, and I cannot imagine who else she might have taken with her.”

Making a show of scratching his neck, long fingers brushing against and catching on the silver collar that contained most of his magic, Loki raised his eyebrows at Thor. “And how, exactly, do you think I might discern where she has gone? In any case, I do not care where Sif is, perhaps your father can shed some light on her whereabouts.”

“I would think that Lady Sif can take care of herself, does it really matter who went with her?” The whole exchange was making Jane uncomfortable, obviously she didn’t know much about the dynamics of the group of warriors she knew had once spent many of their days together, but she had seen the woman fight, what were they worried about?

“Lady Sif is very capable of taking care of herself, it is only that her leaving alone is… not something I would expect her to do. I shall speak with the Allfather. He will know where she has gone, if nothing else.” He gave Loki a level look, knowing his statement, not to care about her whereabouts, to be a lie, otherwise he would have never made the effort to learn of her leaving at all. He was not fool enough to say so outright, but he did give Loki an opening, no matter his distrust of the trickster, he was still his brother. “Will you accompany me, Loki? He may ask how you learned of Sif’s absence.”

In a voice heavy with irritation, Loki responded as he eyed Jane contemptuously. “Very well, but make this quick, I have other matters I would prefer to attend to.”  
Thor nodded to Loki and smiled at Jane, capturing her hand with his. “I shall return shortly, Lady Jane, now is as good a time as any to take a break anyway. Are you hungry? I could have some food sent up from the kitchens while I am away.”

She ignored Loki’s rolling eyes and shook her head. “Nah, I’ll be fine, just hurry back.”

“I shall, my Lady.” He kissed the back of her hand and gave Loki a warning look as he growled in annoyance.

~

Together the Princes, one dark, the other golden, traversed the short distance from Thor’s living spaces to the throne room where Odin would soon be concluding court. They did not speak with one another, and though Thor was curious about Loki’s concern for Sif’s whereabouts, he dared not ask.

The Einherjar that guarded the throne room said nothing to either of them, silently throwing open the heavy golden doors to allow them entrance, and they both passed into the cavernous room just as wordlessly.

Odin watched them approach, surprised and heartened to see them together, even if he would never say anything to let them know as much. “My sons.” He addressed them, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the room. “What brings you to me?”

“Lady Sif brings us here.” Thor rumbled as Odin’s single eye fell upon him. “It came to our attention that she is not here, and we wondered if you might know where she had gone?”

“Of course I know where she has gone.” He replied almost flippantly, “Lady Sif is where I sent her.” As if that was explanation enough; he watched the two of them exchange a look, and he was reminded of their younger years, a reminiscence that brought a wave of melancholy, though the King ignored it.

Thor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You sent Sif out… alone? That is irregular.”

Odin gave his heir a level look. “Who should I have sent with her, I wonder? The Warriors Three have only just returned from Alfheim after being away for weeks. They worked hard to end a rebellion and deserve a little time to themselves. I cannot send any random warrior to accompany the Goddess of War, I prefer my warriors to return to me intact.” He looked at Loki, his disappointment clear. “I can send you nowhere until your punishment concludes.” His hand tightened around Gungnir as he addressed Thor. “And it would have been heartless for me to send you with her.”

“Lady Jane would surely have understood had I explained…” Thor trailed off as both Odin and Loki gave him looks that indicated that he was far off track, and he looked between them, bewildered. “I do not understand.”

“Which is absolutely no surprise.” Loki growled, and Odin offered him no better explanation.

“Neither of you need worry about Lady Sif, she has been performing tasks for me, on her own, since the conclusion of the war with Malekith.” He let the silence stretch, giving that information time to sink in.

Thor had the sense to look abashed at least, replying slowly. “I see.”

“Do you? You never see anything.” Loki growled at him.

“It is not as if you noticed her absence either!”

Loki scoffed, turning to leave. “She is not my friend.”

Thor and Odin watched Loki retreat together until the gilded doors closed behind him, and Thor looked back at his father, Loki’s barb cutting deeply. “If I have wronged her, it was entirely unintentional, but I should have been more attentive.”

Odin regarded him silently, carefully weighing what he would say next to his oldest son. “Lady Sif has always been loyal to you, even to her own detriment, and right now she needs time to heal. That is all you need know about it. Go back to your Lady Jane, she has much to prepare for if she hopes to remain here.” And with that, Odin dismissed Thor by turning his back on him, returning to his place atop the golden throne.


	2. Chapter 2

Sif leaned back against the fallen tree, its rough, dry bark biting into her back, but she seemed not to notice, instead her gaze was caught within the dancing flames of her campfire as the sky above darkened from crimson to grey. She had never been one to seek solitude, but now she was thankful for it, grateful to Odin for not questioning her requests for tasks. She could breathe out here, away from all of the things that weighed heavily on her mind, and though she would have much preferred to have come with her five shield-brothers, that was no longer possible, it was unlikely to be possible again.

The fire flared as she tossed the remains of her meal into it, the flames sparking green for but a brief moment as the animal fat burned hotter than the wood, and she flinched. Wisps of green belonged only to the recesses of her memory now, where they should stay, leave her be, and let her figure out where she was to belong in this new Asgard that she no longer felt comfortable in.

She had been naïve, she knew that now, knew that what little part of her had held fast to her childhood had been forced to let go; childish wishes, and foolish dreams dashed upon rocks that had long awaited them. From the moment she had chosen to defy her mother and pursue this path, Sif had known that she could become a warrior, but it did not matter how hard she worked, she would never be a man. Hard earned acceptance did not make her equal. Knowledge of that fact did not make it any easier to swallow.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, one arm wrapping loosely around her legs, the other reached for the scroll she’d been sent to collect, a small, tightly rolled parchment, sealed with wax, some missive or other for Odin. Sif’s thumb traced over the embossed design, a hammer and chisel, sigil of the dwarves royal house. She could have returned home before nightfall, she had completed the assignment in plenty of time to have done so, but it was so much easier to be alone when she was not among the people most important to her, those she loved more than she could stand, who she would sacrifice everything for.

Her fist tightened around the scroll, and she set it down before she could crush it, even this long after the conclusion of the war with Malekith, several moon cycles after it had become painfully clear to her, that she would always give more than she had, that her last offering had left her empty, she could not shake the lingering misery that gripped her chest with iron arms, constricting her lungs, and shortening her breath whenever she allowed herself to think too much.

Companionship was not a need, she was reminding herself of that now. It could ease your troubles, bring comfort and happiness, but it was not a need. Water was a need, food, air to breathe, those were needs; love, friendship, loyalty most certainly were not. Except that for every voiced declaration that she was perfectly happy to be alone, the truth was much to the opposite, she was never settled in her solitude. Instead she loved too deeply, threw too much of herself into her friendships, and she had paid for it.

She slid down, rolling onto her side to lay on the ground, pillowing her head on her arm, still staring into the fire, and letting the dancing flames mesmerize her; giving herself permission to let the smell of wood smoke, and the comfortable temperature of Nidavellir’s summer nights to bring up bitter-sweet memories. Times when a meeting of eyes resulted in late night rendezvous in the surrounding woods, deft fingers on skin, the spill of hot breath on her neck, and a skilled tongue to help silence her cries. It was these that she drifted off to sleep with, long after the fire had burned down to glowing embers.

~

The world was grey when Sif jerked awake, her hand moving instinctually to her weapon, as she pushed herself up, closing her fingers around the leather-wrapped handle of her glaive, hefting its familiar weight. A twig snapped, and the warrior spun toward the noise just as a half-dozen dwarves rushed her. There was little time to identify the small band as raiders, and it didn’t really matter anyway, dwarves died the same as men, homeless raider, or high official, all classes bleed.

A clash of steel rang as she blocked the first strike, sidestepping to make her own attack at the next to come at her, much preferring to stay as much on the offensive as possible. Spinning her blades, she jabbed backward, a feral grin adding to the savage cast of her feature when she heard him scream, felt her weapon make purchase, and she tore it loose again, moving her feet to meet the next blow.

One of them jumped onto her back, and while she was preoccupied with ridding herself with the cursing dwarf, trying desperately to get his dagger against her neck, another came for her, and she twisted away. The movement was not nearly fast enough, however, and though she prevented a much more grievous wound, his blade bit into her skin slipping perfectly beneath her armor, and as she turned, it ripped a slash from the front of her hip, around her side. She bit back a cry as she bent over, throwing the man on her back to the ground, and spinning a kick at the dirty, ginger-haired dwarf who’d managed to wound her. He ducked, then came at her again, but it was to his detriment this time as his head came away from his shoulders.

As abruptly as the attack had begun, it ended, the four surviving men, beating a retreat back into the forest. Sif watched them go, wishing she could go after them, but to do so would be folly, who knows how many of them might be hiding out in the woods, and besides, she’d been injured. She looked down at her side, blood soaking the leather of her trousers, a fall of crimson that had discolored the material all the way to her knee. She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face and smearing blood, but she was not concerned about that now, the more pressing concern was getting herself treated before she lost too much of her own blood…. And the inexplicable burn that was starting to spread through her veins.

~

After leaving the throne room, Loki had retreated to his chambers, setting to work distracting himself with the tedious task of mixing potions, but it had soon become obvious that he would get nothing done. Thor, the stupid dolt, blind oaf. His face twisted in contempt even though there was no one to see it. Whatever amusement he had found in the irony of it all, was all gone; Loki hadn’t even realized it until now, but he’d relied upon Sif always being the rock, unyielding, unchanged, always confident in her purpose and place, even when she’d been told unequivocally that it was not a place or a purpose for a woman. He knew that woman, knew that she would always say that she needed no one, and also knew that it was a lie, she sought company as a starving man sought food. There was a time when she had sought his company.  
Loki bit out a string of curses as sentiments that were best left to the past, reasserting themselves, and that was nothing he wanted. Whatever their relationship had been, it was not so easily defined, they had kept it between them, always present, and yet hidden. If anyone else had known of their bond, no one ever mentioned it, and they carried on, as ever, hidden from the view of others. A darkened corridor during a feast, protected inside the wards of her chambers, an impromptu meet up in the woods after a hunt. He could even remember a few times that she had braved the library to sit with him quietly when she was troubled.

They never spoke of those things, their relationship remained undefined, and though their meetings became more meaningful as time went on, more conversation, and an ease with each other born of something more than sex, they still balked at the idea of putting a name to it. Perhaps that was what ensured that things could end only as they did, with Sif choosing her best friend over her lover, because defined or not, they were lovers, and she had thrown it all away.

He shifted in the hard, high-backed wooden chair, the ingredients for a sleeping draught, still laid out before him, the small glass vial the finished product would have been stored in, still unstoppered and empty. A handful of herbs, half crushed under his pestle. The scent of which mingled with the other aromas from his rooms, incense, leather, the sharper tinge of magic, smells that Loki hardly noticed anymore, but that soothed him nonetheless.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he wanted her with him right now, but he was the God of Lies after all, and he would not face that truth. Sif had betrayed him, and that was unforgivable. None of that eased his mind, however, and his restlessness grew until he surrendered. Loki left his rooms, making his way through the empty, darkened corridors, as a sudden feeling of worry took hold of his mind. The undulating shadows cast by burning sconces becoming malignant, making the fallen prince jumpy, his time with the Other and Thanos burning to the surface of memory where it was not welcome. Of regrets, the trickster had many, falling into their clutches was certainly at the top of them all. 

The walk from the palace to Heimdall’s observatory was a long one. Loki took no notice of the distance, however, occupying his troubled mind with the beauty of Asgardian night, swirling galaxies, so far away, and, yet, so very near their own world, a kaleidoscope of the realms that occupied Yggdrasil. He had always loved the stars, his eyes moving toward the galaxy surrounding Svaltalfheim, to a star that he had once dragged Thor and Sif out in the middle of the night to watch its birth. They had been no more than children, gangly limbs, and undue confidence, three brothers – for Sif had never been much like a girl – perched upon the rail of Thor’s balcony for the best view.

The memory was nearly painful, and Loki viciously pushed it aside, coming to a stop at the edge of the rainbow bridge. What did he actually think he would accomplish by all of this? Heimdall had never harbored any love for him, and after the events that led to his fall, the gatekeeper would never give up what he knew about his sister’s whereabouts. The worry that twisted in his gut had not let up, however, and if nothing else, he would be able to discern that Sif was still well, Heimdall would give him that much, surely.

When Loki stepped out onto the bridge, the sky behind him was beginning to lighten in the impending morning, a strange hour in which sound seemed to echo off the very atmosphere, and the rumble of galloping horses, approaching him from behind was both felt and heard in thundering clarity. The trickster stepped to the side, looking back along the path he had just followed as a handful of Einherjar appeared atop regal grey horses, and between them, conspicuous aboard a sleek chestnut, was Eir.

The riders paid him no heed, horses striding unfaltering from soil to bridge, not slowing on their path to the observatory. The guards themselves were enough to freeze Loki’s heart in his chest, but Eir… Asgard’s most powerful healer did not leave home soil unless there was good reason to do so. It could be mere coincidence, Sif would not be the only citizen of Asgard to be away on the Allfather’s business, but Loki was not one to put much stock in coincidence, no one trained in the art of battle did.

Were Heimdall prone to such telling expressions, he would have scowled at Loki upon his arrival at the Observatory. The gatekeeper was not one to expose his emotions, and certainly not to the trickster who had committed such grievous crimes against Asgard and Jotunheim. Though he was not entirely privy of the happenings within the void, it had all been disturbingly beyond his sight, he was gifted with the knowledge of what had occurred, and that alone is what stayed his hand in sending Loki away.

He was also completely aware of what brought the fallen prince to him now, and Heimdall regarded him stoically for infuriatingly long moments that raised Loki’s ire until he could see that he was ready to strike out with that sharp tongue of his, biting and sarcastic, and passive-aggressive in the greatest of trickster style. Triumphantly, the gatekeeper spoke first, giving Loki what he wanted, but the words he spoke were of no light matter, and he would have preferred they not reach his ears at all. Sif was almost ready to make the ultimate decision that had always been her destiny, a choice that would be painful one for the warrior goddess, but that would finally allow her happiness and belonging that she had always denied herself. Loki held the power to sway her, a truth that her brother would never approve of.

Heimdall nodded his helmeted head, hands flexing as they rested upon the pommel of his great weapon. “You come for news of the Lady Sif.” It was not a question. “She does not fare well at present, but is being attended to. Her return to Asgard will be very soon.”

Loki can do nothing more than nod as his concerns were realized, the cold fist in his chest, squeezing, squeezing until he thought he might not ever breathe deeply again, and that is absurd. Completely absurd, because he had nearly let the Destroyer kill her while he watched on. It would have been nothing to burn her where she had fallen with all of the sentinel’s fiery power, but in the end he hadn’t, though he never cared to visit the reasoning for it.

This feeling that constricts his lungs, and aches, hurts, is not completely new, not by a long stretch. He has experienced it on many occasions, not only for Sif, but for Thor, and Fandral, the one he might have once considered his closest friend of the Warriors Three, for all of them really. Where had it all gone so wrong? 

Long fingers idly trace over the runes of his collar, feeling suddenly claustrophobic with the magical containment, and wishing, desperately to be free of his punishment. Wanting nothing more in that moment than to be given the opportunity to apologize. He knew what he had lost, and he wanted it back. The moment passed quickly, however, reminding himself that it was they who betrayed him.

The relief Loki’s anger had brought was shuttered aside as Heimdall turned wordlessly, lifting the giant sword, Hǫfuð and sliding it into the Bifrost mechanism, turning it to admit the Einherjar, Eir, and Sif, who appeared suddenly. The trickster choked on his next breath, caught fast in his throat as the group came into focus, striding past him and Heimdall both without a word, headed straight for the waiting horses. Sif’s limp body clutched in the arms of one of the guards, and for one brief second, he thought she was dead. It was only the urgency in which she was carried off that told him otherwise, and the last thing he sees as they hurry toward the horses, is a flag of ebony hair that has fallen loose of its tie.

It dredges up the memory of a girl with long, blonde hair, limbs still long, but wiry and strong and skilled. He is reminded of her pride, the tilt of her chin, and a cocky smirk as she is allowed to join in at the training field for the first time. Loki remembers how happy she was, and how unhappy the boys she would train with were. He can still recall the comments made as she takes up her place in line, how she had expected them, and ignores them now, but he feels each one of them in his very bones, and it burns him because he knows what those comments do. He knows that she is receiving each blow even as she pretends not to.

Even Njall, the old warrior who has been training boys for Odin’s ranks for nearly as long as Odin has ruled, strikes at her bitingly, and it is with those, that he starts to see her composure crack. Sif does not give in, refuses to give up and walk away, and he curls his lip and snorts at her, his exact remark lost to memory, but it was something along the lines of ‘come along then, girl, show us why you should be here’, and he pairs her up with one of his best students, second only to Thor himself.

This is what she has been waiting for, the chance to prove herself, and Sif, blonde hair gleaming under the midday sun, does exactly that, laying the boy out on his back in only a few moves. For he may be second only to Thor, but she has done exactly that to Thor more times than the elder Odinson would care to admit.

Triumphantly Sif grins, turning on her heel to return to the line, her blade flashing in the sun, and Loki sees a second flash, and by then it is too late to even call out to warn her as she goes down on her knees, face contorted in pain.

Sif took much away from that first training session, her first scar from the deep slash in her back, an important lesson that she learned well that day, to never turn your back on an opponent, and she learned that one well, and she also learned that if she were to earn the respect she so deeply desired, sacrifices would have to be made. The girl who walked out of the healing room, was very different from the one who was carried into it.

An accident the next day resulted in the boy, who was already being punished for his crime, falling from a ladder as he scrubbed the palace walls, and breaking both of his legs. Loki could remember Sif’s cool gaze, the way her eyes narrowed on him. She knew who was responsible, and he had loved that she did.

The memory occupies Loki’s time and he barely remembers his trek back to the palace as he debates with himself over whether or not he should return to his rooms, or attempt to see Sif. He wants to know she is recovering, needs to know so badly that it is a physical pain, but no one knows that they were once more than the wary friends everyone assumed of them, and no one should be allowed to know that he is too weak to completely let go of what was, and can never again be.

Absently he wonders if Thor has been notified of Sif’s misfortune, and he childishly hopes that he has not, for the man who had once boasted of her as his most loyal of friends, the thunderer’s selfishness has driven her away, and Loki fears that nothing will bid her remain any longer.  
She left them once before.

After the fiasco that was Sif’s first official day of training, Odin forbade her from rejoining the ranks, but he had heard the story from enough witnesses to know that the talent of the girl who had stood before his throne and pleaded for her chance to serve him was genuine. Undoubtedly she would have been chosen by the Valkyrie on their next celebration day, and thus he was torn. His corps of Valkyrie had a very important job to carry out, but Sif did not want to join them, she wished to pledge her oaths to Asgard.

Odin’s true motivations were hidden to Loki, but whether he wished for Sif to receive the best possible training, free from the danger she had been proven to face, or if he hoped she would change her mind, and her path, to use her gifts as women warriors were meant to use them, for the Valkyrie, Sif left the healing rooms, and her training re-commenced at the hands of the Valkyrie. Her trainers rotated through Asgard as Sif was not yet of age, and her mother refused to grant her permission to leave. It was expected that she would depart for Valhalla as soon as she reached maturity, and she did, leaving the realm eternal for a century in which no one expected she would ever return.

Loki closed the door behind him, weary to his very bones, cursing that he cannot simply vanish his clothing as he once would have. Forced to remove it by hand, he strips down, leaving the discarded fabric in a haphazard pile on his bedchamber floor before crawling into bed, and trying desperately to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor and Jane were engaged in discussion of Asgard’s more archaic laws that Jane simply could not wrap her mind around, and though she was definitely growing argumentative about the absurdity of a woman belonging to a man by betrothal contract alone, Thor was being remarkably patient in trying to explain about bride prices, and the process of creating such a contract when someone rapped on the door. He ran a large calloused hand over his face and sighed as he pushed away from the polished wood table.

Curious about who would be calling on them at such an early hour, Jane slipped off her chair to follow him, though she mentally bookmarked their discussion, he would not be let off the hook that easily on this one. He pulled the door open to reveal Hogun, as grim-faced as ever, but the wide smile Jane was so used to seeing on Thor, when one of his friends showed up, did not make its appearance.

“What has happened, my friend?” Thor’s voice low and concerned, apparently being able to tell the difference between Hogun’s usual expression and the one he wore when things were amiss.

Hogun’s sharp, dark eyes flicked to Jane before returning his friend. “I just came from the healing rooms,” he began before Thor’s brows pulled together.

“Are you well?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Fandral over drank himself, I went to get him a draught, but, Thor, Sif is there.”

Thor shook his head. “Nay, Sif is on Nidavellir, I spoke to the Allfather of it just yesterday.” Even as he denied it, though, Jane was sure he knew it to be true, from what little she knew, Hogun wouldn’t make that kind of joke.

“Is she okay?” Jane interceded, stepping closer to the doorway. She saw it then, a pinching of his eyes as the warrior addressed them both.

“Eir tells that she came in near dawn, but has yet to regain consciousness. She would not elaborate, but suggested I speak with the Allfather if I wished for further information. I had hoped you would have known more.”

Remembering how upset Thor had been the day before to learn that Sif had been off on her own, Jane reached for his hand, he let her take it, and squeezed hers gently in return, but the look he gave her from the corner of his eye was a pained one. He had returned from seeing Odin distracted, and unhappy, but aside from one vague remark to the effect of not meaning to have hurt her, he had been unwilling to elaborate his thoughts. She knew he would tell her when he was ready, but now, it seemed, whatever had upset him yesterday was now hitting him with a full blown guilt trip.

“Lady Sif,” he suddenly turned back to her proper title, though why he suddenly felt the need, Jane would not pretend to know, “was on Nidavellir, alone, to complete a task for my father. That is all I know of it.”

“Alone?” Hogun asked, the surprise evident on even his hard to read features, and his eyes searched Thor’s face, knowing that there had to be more to it than that, though he did not push.

“Aye, alone.” He verified as his friend’s face almost seemed to soften in understanding that Jane, herself, did not have.  
“She is preparing to join her sisters.”

Thor shook his head so violently that Jane almost stepped away, expecting a fight, his expression angry. “She swore to fight at my side until I would no longer have her, she would not break that oath.”

And Hogun did not so much as shift his weight at Thor’s behavior, but chastised him as Jane had never seen anyone of Asgard do. It should not have been so unexpected, but until then, aside from Loki, she had seen no one treat him with anything less than adoration. “Do not be so selfish as to deny her when she asks you to release her from that promise. The young warrior who offered it to you, is long gone, as is the prince who accepted it.” He spoke softly, but there was a weight to his words that Jane could only guess to the meaning of, and she wasn’t sure that she liked the direction her mind was taking.

He possessed a stillness that was almost disturbing, Jane decided as his gaze fell on her again, the very corner of his mouth twitching in something that might have been amusement. “Thor and Sif have always been the closest of friends, perhaps even as close as siblings, but that is where it ended.” It seemed a non-sequitur, but she knew why he said it, and was thankful. He turned back to Thor then before continuing. “Sif is not being allowed visitors yet, but you should tell Loki of her condition, he will deny caring, but he would wish to know regardless.”  
And as a few pieces of the puzzle fell into place for her, Jane wondered if there was anything that Hogun did not see.

~

It was the smell that hit her first, the sharp tang of healing ointments, so strong that you can almost taste them on your tongue, but when she tried to open her eyes, it was simply too difficult, her eyelids refused to obey. Sif had woken up in the healing rooms often enough that it did not immediately disturb her to realize where she was, if anything, it was a comfort in light of the fractured memories that she was trying to put in order to see what led her here. Attempting to roll onto her side, her body protested as a thousand hot needles seemed to prick her skin, eliciting a whimper, the sound so pathetic to her own ears that she cursed herself.

The bed dipped, and a cool hand laid over her forehead causing Sif to force her eyes open to look into the familiar face of Eir, smiling softly. “Do you remember what happened to you, Lady Sif?” She asked her, and not for the first time, she marveled at just how quietly a commanding tone could be.

“N-“ She attempted to speak, but the word caught in her dry throat, and she cleared it, shaking her head.

The healer, left for a moment, returning quickly with a glass of water, and helped Sif into a propped up position as the warrior gritted her teeth at the pain of moving. She found herself thirstier than she’d thought she might be, however, and drank greedily, draining the cup.  
“I was in a fight.” She said, finally. “That is the last thing I remember.”

“You were.” The thin blonde woman, nodded, watching Sif critically with sharp blue-grey eyes. “One of the dwarves you fought caught you with a poisoned blade. The injury was easy to heal, but it was a strong poison. You will likely be weak for a few days more.”  
She struggled to sit up more, jaw flexing with the effort. “I wish to return to my rooms.”

Eir arched an eyebrow, giving the warrior goddess a level look that told her the answer before it was uttered. “Perhaps tomorrow, but you need watching.” The healer got to her feet. “Thor is waiting outside, shall I let him in?”

A small shake of her head, she hadn’t the energy to pretend that everything was alright, and even the thought of being faced with his concern made her want to curl up and cry. Since reaching adulthood, she could count on her fingers the number of times that she had been weak in front of Thor, the most recent being when they’d faced down the destroyer, and if she had her way, that would be the last.

Moving toward the door, Eir’s delicate brow creased in concern, for as long as she’d been treating Sif, Thor had always been there, the two of them nearly inseparable at times, but she merely nodded, heading into the main room of the healing wing.

Sif watched the door shut firmly behind her before carefully settling back onto the bed, ignoring the discomfort as best she could as she tried to find a decent way to lay. Through the door, she could hear Thor’s protest, and the murmur of Eir’s voice as she held firm in denying him entry, and she closed her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She needed sleep, and healing, and then she could regain control of herself. Then, she could go about making the necessary preparations to leave this realm, and everything on it.

Her lip curled in disgust for herself as her emotions won out, and she felt the first hot tear burn a trail over her cheekbone. Coward.

~

Someone was knocking at the door, Loki realized as he rolled over in bed, cursing, elegant hands coming up to rub his face before sliding to the edge of the bed. He yanked his trousers on, pulling them over his hips as he walked, and tugging at the laces, snugging them around his waist when he reached the door, swinging it open. The sharp barb he had prepared to hurl at he who dared disturb him, at so early an hour, died on his tongue when the opened door revealed Frigga, his mother, the only one he simply could not bring himself to forsake.

He had not seen her since being released, and at this unexpected visit, his silvertongue failed him, forcing him to settle for a simple greeting. “Frigga.”

The Queen took it in stride, she hadn’t expected a warm reception, nor would she wish for one. False sincerity would be more painful than the true conflict she could see in his honest reaction. “May I come in?”

Silently, Loki stepped aside, granting her entrance to his quarters, and closing the door once she was clear, only then did he address her. “What brings you into the presence of a traitor?” The words were hard and sharp, though they were spoken so quietly, that the pain of that question was more readily heard than the razor’s edge.

A gentle smile quirked her lips while she reached up, cupping Loki’s cheek with an elegant hand. “I came to see my son with news of Lady Sif.” Though she was careful not to show a reaction, her heart stuttered in her chest as he leaned into her touch for a fraction of a moment before jerking away as if he’d been suddenly burned.

He stepped back away from her, adopting the arrogant tilt to his chin that constituted his default expression. “Why would I have any interest in news of Sif?”

“A mother often sees too much.” Frigga replied in that no-nonsense sort of way that a woman of her rank quickly learns to use. The words were true, though. She had seen the truth in her weavings, spoken with her husband about his decision to allow the warrior goddess leave to perform his tasks on her own, and knew what Sif was being pushed into a decision, but she did not agree with any of it.

“What is it, you believe yourself to have seen?”

“I see a man, who was once a boy who was the greatest friend a girl could have. He was the one that she always went to when she was unhappy, and one who always managed to change that. I watched that girl grow, and fight, and push herself, and against all tradition, swear herself to Asgard.” She paused, settling herself into Loki’s armchair, and pointed at the couch, a silent request that he sit. Loki shook his head, but found himself obeying anyway, smoothly resting on plush cushions.

“I watched a woman, follow one man, and love another, and I saw what happened when she was forced to choose between what she wanted, and what she thought was best for Asgard.” Frigga’s lips pressed together in a stern line as she regarded her youngest son. “I watched her mourn silently, and have seen her withdraw a little at a time, until I saw her break from the realization of what it truly means to swear oneself to a realm. Most recently I have seen a King and a Gatekeeper push her ever so gently toward the sisterhood that she left because her heart was here, and I cannot help but wonder where her heart is now.”

The trickster sat back, struggling to hide behind his mask of indifference, but no matter how he searched for words, his silvertongue failed him yet again.

“I cannot imagine that you would wish her to leave without having the chance to bid her farewell. I fear your time to do so is getting short.” The Queen rose to leave.

“She is healing well, I gather.” Loki finally managed softly.

She nodded. “Eir is keeping her until the final effects of the poison have passed, otherwise, she is fine.”

The hands that he had carefully folded in his lap, balled into fists at the mention of poison, but he nodded to her in return, remaining in his seat until she had let herself out, then he jumped to his feet beginning to pace like a caged animal, caught in a web of indecision.

~

Another night passed, and Sif managed to convince Eir to allow her to return to her own rooms where she would be more comfortable, promising to rest for at least another day before trying to be up and about. In truth, she was still exhausted. For once she had no need to lie in order to gain leave from the healing wing. She dressed slowly, the burning sensation from the poison was gone, but it had been replaced with the ache of overused muscles. The warrior had staunchly refused visitors, and Eir had dutifully denied everyone entry to her room, and Sif hoped that would have been enough to send everyone back to their own rooms.

Unfortunately, that was not the case, and as she slipped out of the room, she was met by Thor who stepped into her path, his face reflecting all of the hurt of a kicked puppy, and were she feeling more up to it, she might have kicked him for turning such an expression on her. She raised her hand to silence him, shaking her head. “Not now, Thor. I promise that I shall speak with you later, but I have not the energy to do it now.”

He reached out to clasp her shoulders, and she ground her teeth together, recoiling from him. Pulling his hands back in surprise, he looked at them as if they were alien before letting them drop back to his sides. “I have wronged you, Sif, but I know not how….” Thor ducked his head, worrying his lip with his teeth in a way that she had not seen since he was young. “I wish only to make it up to you.”

“You put your lover first.” She shook her head at his incredulous expression, the confusion as he tried to settle on betrayal or anger at her words. “Do not mistake me, Odinson.” She warned, feeling far too tired to be doing this now. “You simply made me realize that I built my life around a lie, and in doing so lost the only thing that ever made me truly happy.” Sif frowned, rubbing her hands over her face, the movement bringing Thor’s attention to just how pale and tired she looked. “And I do not have the… wherewithal to watch you have all that I cannot, at this point.”

The confusion was back, but the anger was gone, replaced with bewilderment. “We have always been close, Sif, but you enjoyed the company of the Warrior’s Three, and just because much of my time is spent with Jane, it does not mean that you have lost me.”

She should have expected such an answer from him. Despite the changes he had experienced during his short banishment, he was ever self-centered. Sif snorted in a most un-ladylike manner and moved past him, headed for the door. “Believe it or not, Thor, not everything is about you.” This was exactly why she had to leave, it was exhausting always trying to make a place for yourself, and she was tired of being among those who touted themselves her friends, and yet finding herself forever alone.

Only one man had ever seemed to look at her and really see who she was without rejecting her for that, and she had walked away from him.  
Thor thought to stop her again as she left him standing there, but even he could see that she was not yet recovered from her ordeal. He let her go, trying to wrap his mind around what all of that actually meant.

The healing wing was not so far away from the warrior’s wing of the palace, but the walk back to her rooms seemed to take an eternity when all Sif wanted to do was curl up in a pile of warm furs and actually sleep. Sleep and, hopefully, not dream. She didn’t want to sift through old memories, or look for a reason to stay because she feared that any reason might be enough to keep her there. After all, she did not fit in all that perfectly with the Valkyrie either, it was why she had not remained with them, but at least there she could be herself. She was allowed to be a warrior and a woman and everything that came with it.

Her pace was much slower than usual, and the satisfying echo caused by the ringing of her boots against marble, was almost entirely absent as she carried herself to her door, slipping into her rooms, still cast in shadow as the heavy curtains over the open balcony were shut. For that she was grateful, and she wondered idly if one of the servants had done that specifically. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she busied herself with removing her clothing, each item dropped haphazardly on the floor in rough semblance of a pile.

She pulled her tunic over her head, and paused, the soft material still encasing her forearms as she dropped them into her lap, hazel eyes falling on the side table where she had kept a broken throwing knife. The knife, nothing special to look at, shoddy workmanship with a plain wooden handle, and short blade, broken off to a jagged edge a few finger widths from its hilt, was conspicuously missing. She peeled the shirt off her arms and balled it up, as her heart froze in her chest, and she willed herself to move, to look for it. Surely it had only fallen on the floor.  
Norns, she was overreacting, nothing could have happened to it, knives, even broken ones – especially broken ones -- did not simply walk away.

Pale fingers tightened around a wooden knife hilt as he melted back into the shadows, trying not to be seen. Sif wasn’t supposed to return yet, Loki did not even know for sure why he had come, but it wasn’t to confront her, and he did not look forward to being caught here like this. The longer he watched, the more uncomfortable he became as he tried not to focus on her stripping out of her clothes, and if he’d still had use of his magic, he would have already vanished. At that thought his other hand came up to scratch against his collar, willing himself to make a move one way or the other, and just as he was going to try and slip over to a better concealed position, Sif jumped to her feet, searching frantically for something.

His teeth met as he hissed a curse under his breath, emerald irises dropping to the knife he clenched in his hand. Loki knew he shouldn’t have picked it up, and he wondered what memories specifically prompted her to keep it by her bed, even after everything that had happened.  
The little girl who had wielded that knife had still been blonde, with a scraped knee, and a torn dress, her unruly hair pulled back in a messy tie, the strands tangled with twigs and dead leaves. The scent of fall had been in the air, and Sif had been standing determinedly in front of the target she had made from a dead branch. Loki had watched from the shadows, much as he was now as she tried, and failed, over, and over again to land the knife true. He could still remember the way she held her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated, and the excitement on her face when, finally, it made its mark.

He could also remember her cry of anguish when she realized that it had broken upon impact, much like the sound that she was making now as she flipped over her side table searching for what remained of that day. The day he had given her one of his knives and promised he would teach her to throw it.

Sentiment.

The emotion that was eating at him right now as he watched her sit heavily back on the bed, and drop her face into her hands. The emotion that nearly gave away his position when he saw that her shoulders shook with another sentiment, not so different from his, but one that she so rarely allowed herself to show. It was all going to get him killed, he decided as he stepped out of the shadows, moving near-silently across the floor before he grasped her wrist, pulling her hand down away from her face and placing the worn knife into her palm.

She surprised them both when she looped her arms around his waist, and leaned her cheek against his leather-clad abdomen.

He gently removed her arms and sat next to her on the bed, watching her warily as she held the knife in her hand, flipping it over as her hair curtained around her face, blocking it from his view.

“Why are you here?” She asked, softly, though her voice rasped from the expression of her misery.

Loki rolled his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, trying not to fall into the trap that was waiting to be tripped beneath his proverbial feet. “Rumor has it that you wish to leave Asgard.” He stated cooly, the quirk at the corner of his mouth the only tell that he was struggling with masking his emotions.

The warrior turned toward him abruptly, her eyes blazing as she flipped the knife toward the wall with an accuracy that would have been deadly had there been enough blade to pierce the paneling, he had taught her well, after all. “Does this amuse you?! Did you wish to introduce me to every reason why you will be happy to watch me depart? Or were you simply hoping to watch me fall apart?” Her eyes were bright as she shoved him, pushed him again, and the third time her hands connected with his chest, they were curled into fists.

He had seen Sif break down, but never like this, and Loki reacted the only way he knew how, the way he always did when she needed someone. He hooked his arms around her and pulled her against himself, shaking his head as he buried his nose in her hair, breathing her scent. “I want you to stay.”

“I want to stay.” She murmured against his shoulder before shaking her head as well. “I want this, you. I want everything I cannot have…. I wish this was not a dream, and you would actually hold me again.”

The hand that was trailing down her bare back froze, and Loki pushed her back to meet her eyes. “You think this is a dream?” He chuckled, paused to look at her, and chuckled again. “Sif, this is not a dream.”

She chuckled resentfully, shaking her head again. “If this were not a dream, you would not be here, and if you were… well, the meeting would go nothing like this. You hate me.”

“You presume much, Swordhand.” Loki growled, but did not move away. “It was you who turned your back on me, if you recall.”  
“Exactly!” She exclaimed. “I turned my back on you. Can you remember the last time I’ve turned my back on anyone I did not trust not to harm me? I had not forsaken you, but you made me choose between my best friend, and the lover I could barely recognize! You were not yourself, and I hold no hope of ever seeing that man again.”

Loki scoffed. “That man died when he fell from the Bifrost.”

“You mean when he let go of the Bifrost, but, no, that it is not true either. He died sometime before that, I was just uninformed of it.” She said bitterly, sliding back away from him, and laying down. “Not that any of it matters, Thor may miss me on occasion, and the Warrior’s Three will likely note my absence, but there is no reason left for me to stay.”

Verdant eyes trailed over her naked body, and he almost felt guilty for it, but before his eyes could travel back up to her eyes, they landed on the pale pink line of a fresh scar. He bent over her, tracing the new scar with a fingertip. “I want you to stay.”

“Of course you do, you are a figment of my fevered imagination.” She muttered, rolling onto her side and tucking one of her pillows beneath her head.

“You do not have a fever, Sif.” He pointed out, finding himself amused at her denial.

“I spent the last two days fighting off poison, same difference. It all comes down to the same thing.”

He rolled his eyes, brushing his thumb over her hipbone, well-aware that he should not be touching her at all. “What would it take to convince you that I am, indeed here? That I wish for you to stay?”

“You cannot, you are not here.” She said stubbornly.

“Name it.”

“Since you insist, fine… Stay, if you are still here when I wake, which you will not be, I will not go.” Sif reached behind herself and pulled one of the soft furs over her body.

“Promise me, Sif. I want your word that you will stay here, with me, when I am still here in the morning.”

“I swear it, Loki. If you are still here when I wake, I will stay here, with you.”

~

Thor was still not sure how he so blatantly missed all of the signs, and even Hogun’s alluding to Sif’s relationship with Loki, but it had taken a conversation with Jane, who patiently explained to him what was going on, to finally see the truth. Now it was so obvious as to be almost painful. He was good at reading people, very good in fact, but he had somehow turned a blind eye to his brother and his best friend. Sif’s words to him the day before made perfect sense, and he suddenly felt very guilty for disregarding Hogun’s recommendation to inform Loki of Sif’s injury.

Hoping to make up for his oversights, and talk to the trickster about Sif with the thought that maybe they could convince her to stay, he headed straight for Loki’s rooms. When he knocked on his brother’s door, however, he found him to be absent, and a search of his usual haunts did not turn him up either. He didn’t dwell on, there would be time to talk to Loki later. Changing directions, he headed toward the warrior’s wing, the late morning sunshine shining through the high windows and open balconies to reflect off the walls, bathing the hallways in golden light. Thor paid no attention to such details seen so many times as to have become mundane, he was preoccupied with thoughts of how to breech such a sensitive subject with Sif. 

The knock to Sif’s door did not wake her, she had been slowly rousing for a while, but her body was still recovering, and the feel of a body pressed against her back was enough to keep her put. The knock did, however, bring her to lucidity, and she suddenly really realized that there was a body pressed against her back. She turned a bit to look over her shoulder as Loki leaned over, her breath catching at the sudden proximity of him.

“I believe this qualifies as a victory on my part.” He purred before slipping off the bed. “Shall I get the door?”

Another hard rapping, this time accompanied by Thor’s low rumble. “Sif?”

Loki froze, looking to Sif as this was the part where he usually vanished, but that was no longer an option. He was caught, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Sif sat up, her mind still struggling to process the fact that Loki was still here with her. Which also meant that he had held her, and asked her to stay, and she wanted to pull him back into bed with her, and figure out if they could fix things. That couldn’t happen with Thor here, he would ruin everything, and she found herself staring back at Loki with a thousand things swirling about her mind and not a single word on her tongue.

He pulled his trousers on over his hips and headed for the door, shooting Sif one last look, a final opportunity to stop him, but she did not, and he pulled the door open.

Whatever Thor had prepared himself to say to Sif was lost as he stared at Loki, half-dressed, his mouth opening comically, and closing again before he finally seemed to get a grip. “May I come in?”

Loki stepped back, inviting him in with a sweeping gesture, and looked back at Sif was now mostly dressed, padding in from the bed chamber on bare feet.

Thor looked between Loki and Sif warily. “I was looking for you, Loki, but I suppose that it is good that you are here.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and addressed Sif softly. “I do owe you an apology, my friend. I had no idea that I was leaning on you when you needed someone to lean on as well. I should have been more considerate, but please, let me try and make it up to you before you leave.”

“She is not leaving.” Loki said silkily, looking pointedly at the warrior goddess who stared back silently.

“You are not leaving? You have decided to stay?”

“Lady Sif promised me that she would not leave, and she would never break such an oath.” His eyes had not left hers.

Blonde brows furrowed deeply as Thor realized that he was somewhat superfluous in this discussion.

“It would seem that my requirements were met, I will stay.” She replied carefully, completely unsure what all of this meant for her and the man who’s eyes currently held the entirely of her attention.

“…. I am glad to hear that.” Thor stated lamely while he was ignored.

Loki’s palm cupped Sif’s jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone as he closed the distance between them, and brought his mouth against hers, kissing her deeply. She returned the kiss in kind, her hand hooking around the back of his neck, slipping into his hair, and his free arm slipped around her waist, pulling her against him.

Thor cleared his throat loudly, intending to remind them of his presence as he found himself thinking that he might be present for much more than he was interested in watching, but he found himself grinning at them. “No more secrecy, then?”

Breaking the kiss, Sif looked up at Loki questioningly.

“No secrecy, and no ambiguity. I am yours shield-maiden.”

“As I am surely yours, trickster.”

Thor laughed, clapping them each on the shoulder. “Perhaps an announcement is in order? A double wedding?”

Loki scoffed. “Surely you jest, when Sif and I wed, it will be a much… nicer affair than yours.” He smiled at Sif. “That is, of course, after she is finished making me pay for all the slights I have made since last we were alone together.”

A grin spread across her face. “This is the way of things.” She agreed, pulling him down for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Loki/Sif Big Bang http://tenthousandwordsoflokisif.tumblr.com/
> 
> And the wonderful art for this work, by coffeesuperhero, can be found here: http://i633.photobucket.com/albums/uu51/coffeesuperhero/lsbb/deflection_zpseca6cd82.png


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